


take from me

by safeandsound13sreputationera (safeandsound13)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Impregnation Kink, Smut, Technically Forced Pregnancy, Unprotected Sex, and not just because they both come lmao, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13sreputationera
Summary: “And what?” He raises his eyebrows, taking an unexpected step closer to her, arms crossed over his chest. She licks her lips, eyes darting over to his biceps before she has to crane her neck to meet his gaze again. “You expect me to stop you, tell you revenge is not a good reason to fuck someone?”She juts her chin up, glaring at him in a way that’s all too familiar. Taking charge of what she wants, no shame or misplaced guilt left lingering now. “You’re the one who stopped.”
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 423
Collections: The 100 Kinkmeme Round 2020





	1. needing the same as you

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The Ark orders the delinquents to start procreating. She suggests that Clarke goes for Wells or Miller, or someone from Alpha. Clarke decided to fuck Bellamy to make a point to her mother when she comes down, leaves the radio on so they can hear.
> 
> Bp: Bellamy makes Clarke call him daddy or scream.

As soon as Bellamy walks back into what they’ve deemed their unofficial communications tent, Clarke’s face lights up and she’s pressing her mouth against his. They haven’t ever done  _ this _ before. It’s nice, her mouth warm and soft and not unlike how he’s imagined before, but Bellamy’s not sure why it’s happening. Clarke could’ve accidentally ingested the last of some jobi nuts, high out of her mind for all he knows. 

His hands wrap around her biceps as soon as an unnaturally loud moan spills from his lips against her mouth, grounding him back to earth. Bellamy pulls back, keeping her at bay as he gives her a strange look. He squeezes her arms, brows furrowed in concern. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” There’s a curious tone to her voice, the hint of nerves hidden beneath all the bravado she’s putting on; straightened shoulders, chest slightly puffed out, trying to close the distance betweens their lips again. It’s not like Clarke to get nervous, especially not around him. 

The radio suddenly crackles noisily behind them, her mother’s voice filtering through the tent. Clarke winces, freezing in her spot as her fingers curl into fists. He tilts his head, eyes flicking between the radio and her. Interesting. 

He drops one hand, dragging her along to entrance of the tent. He holds up the flap, pushing her outside. Before she’s even fully turned around, he pushes, “What’s gotten into you?”

Her mouth is still wet and red from kissing, and it makes the pit of his stomach feel like a deep dark rock of regret. Thinking he might have missed his only shot just because he got it in his head that he’s a decent person. 

“Nothing,” she snaps, defensive, crossing her arms over her body to hug herself. Only her eyes dart away when she says it, and the decisive tone in her voice is not enough to convince him. She’s overcompensating, and he’s not sure for what. 

It’s enough to aggravate him, push at her like he always does, completely unimpressed, maybe a little offended. He’s not a toy she can take out whenever she wants to, he decides, abstractly, knowing it’s a valid reason to be mad at her, even if he doesn’t fully believe it himself. “You don’t look at me all day after that bomb the Ark dropped on us, and now you practically pounce on me as soon as we’re alone.” 

That morning the Ark informed them it was time to start procreating. It wasn’t a question, nor a suggestion, it was an _ order. _ It was going to take a long time before the rest of the Ark could start their ascend, if ever, and they should work on repopulating the earth during their absence. Now Bellamy didn’t think they could hold much power of them from up in space when they couldn’t even come down to enforce any consequences, but Clarke found out about the trick up their sleeves. 

Of course they didn’t just send them down to earth, handing over all the control. The bracelets weren’t the only thing they landed on the ground with. They’d programmed their birth control devices to send shockwaves through their body in case they weren’t pregnant within a year. The shock waves cause neurotransmitters to short-circuit, causing unbearable pain. It left them with no choice, since a life suffering of paralyzing pain wasn’t really much of one at all. 

He stills remembers Abby’s voice over the radio, the slight tremble in it like she wasn’t the person who could stop of all of this if she really wanted to.  _ I couldn’t let them make an exception for you, Clarke. The least  _ _ — _ _ the least you can do is pick someone worthy. _ Bellamy had let out a bitter huff, leaving his corner of the tent to go get some fresh air. 

It was hard enough worrying about around a hundred  — give or take —  teenage delinquents, he wasn’t looking forward to the number doubling when they hadn’t even found their bearings yet. His mind was already racing with ways to how they were going to get enough food, water and shelter for everyone. And God, the clothes. Babies grew like weed, he remembers. He could teach some others to sow like his mother taught him, but that still didn’t mean they had the supplies just lying around, waiting to be used. 

So mostly, he was worried, but that was a common mood for him. Angry, too, about how a council no longer even part of their society got to dictate the way they lived their lives  _ again. _ They weren’t here, they didn’t risk their lives coming down, so why would they get a say? Besides they weren’t their bodies to decide over to start with, and Octavia — Jesus, she was still a child, how was she supposed to raise one herself? He was so wrapped up in himself and his own feelings and fears, it took him a while to register Clarke was avoiding him. 

She handed over her half-eaten breakfast to Jasper when he arrived to the campfire, mumbled a half-ass excused about inventory when he came to the medbay to get Sterling a bandaid, and later refused to meet his gaze the entirety of their last minute camp meeting, throw together to announce the Ark’s plans for them. 

She forced him to take the lead, the only words she spoke during being about how she could make arrangements. For the girls who weren’t ready to have sex, or weren’t attracted to boys, or had other reasons not to want to engage in the making-of process  — a dazed, distracted look on her face the whole time.

Bellamy wasn’t sure what was up with her, just that, on a day like today, it helped not seeing her face as much. He didn’t want to think about the fact someone was going to have to touch her, father her baby, make her belly stretch from carrying his child. Probably that sleazebag Finn, maybe he would knock up her  _ and _ Raven, maybe Clarke would actually want him to. That would be the worst of it. If she actually wanted it. 

It’s hard for him to admit he cares, after all the fights they’ve had and the secrets he’s shared with her despite knowing better, but he has an immense amount of respect for her, his co-leader, and he hadn’t realized until recently how much he actually liked  _ her,  _ his friend _.  _ And now even more recently, he realized the thought of someone else being with her made him feel sick. 

“My mom wants me to go for Wells, or Riley,” Clarke practically growls, eyes narrowed on his as if to show him exactly how pissed off she is. They soften, around the edges, when she remembers who she’s talking to, like she’s actually a little ashamed. Guilt swirling in her dark blue eyes, even maybe. 

“Oh,” Bellamy concludes, and it finally dawns on him, all remains of a fight leaving his body as his shoulders slack. Skepticism lines his voice, “The elite.” He can’t say he’s surprised, but Clarke’s reaction  — that one was fascinating.

He’s smirking, somehow, widening the more it starts to click, and it makes Clarke clamp her mouth shut, swallowing her words. He remembers her mother’s words, about how she wants her daughter to at least pick someone  _ worthy _ . The last little semblance of a shred of defiance Clarke has, lest she doesn’t want to suffer in pain, is not obeying those orders. So she picked him. Because he was probably the person that would piss her mother off the most. 

He should probably be mad, fuming, that after all this trust and respect and friendship they’ve tried so hard to build between them, she wants to use him like this. Just to get back at her mother. Part of him is. Yet a bigger part of him is thrilled. Thrilled she wants him, thrilled he gets to throw a wrench in the council’s plans, thrilled at the prospect of what this could mean for them. 

“And what?” He raises his eyebrows, taking an unexpected step closer to her, arms crossed over his chest. She licks her lips, eyes darting over to his biceps before she has to crane her neck to meet his gaze again. “You expect me to stop you, tell you revenge is not a good reason to fuck someone?”

She juts her chin up, glaring at him in a way that’s all too familiar. Taking charge of what she wants, no shame or misplaced guilt left lingering now. “You’re the one who stopped.”

“Good,” he decides, looming over her as he moves even a few inches closer, fingers touching her hip lightly making her breathing speed up. His grin widens, and his hand slips under her shirt, warm as it covers her soft belly. “Because I think revenge is an excellent reason for sex.” 

“Not here,” Clarke reminds him, hoarsely, tugging his hand from under her shirt to connect their fingers as she nudges her head back at the the tent. Her pupils are blown, lips wet. He might not be her actual first choice, but she still wants him. Probably heard stories about him from the other girls. Knows he can make her feel good. She doesn’t know how badly _ he _ wants to make her feel good, but she’ll find out. 

“Inside?” Bellamy checks, not entirely sure why they can’t just go to one of their own tents, or hell, even go deeper into the woods and just fuck against a tree, when it clicks into place.  _ The radio _ . He chuckles darkly, tilting his head back so he can read her face better. It’s written all over there, the determination, the thirst for vengeance, the small sliver of recklessness he hasn’t seen on her before. “So she can hear?”

Clarke bites her lip, lifting one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug like she refuses to be ashamed about it. It’s all the confirmation he needs. 

“Hmm,” Bellamy pretends to think it over like he wasn’t already convinced the minute she laid her lips on his. He’d fuck her anywhere, in front of anyone. Beggars can’t be choosers. He knows this all depends on her, what she wants, what she needs. The minute she wants to stop, it’s over. His free hand brushes a stand of hair away from her eyes, thumb trailing down her cheek, admiring her pure, untouched beauty. He stifles another smirk, clearly full of admiration, “Dirty princess, huh?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, turning her head so his hand falls away, grip of her fingers tightening around his other hand almost meanly. “You coming or not?”


	2. so show me how you work with your lips and your hands and your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe it got a little fluffy at the end, and i ask you, from the bottom of my heart, why should i give a fuck? canon sucks!

He follows her inside, ignoring the low crackle of the radio coming from the headphones discarded on top of the desk as Clarke pushes him up against it, already pulling her henley over her head, long blonde hair falling down her shoulders. 

“Clarke — ” he starts again, licking his lips, eyes dipping down to her tits, fucking amazing glorious best-he’s-ever-seen  _ tits _ practically spilling from her black bra, and back up her face just as quickly. It’s taking all of the self-control he has, whole body straining against his instincts, but there’s so many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to discuss, so many things they should argue about first. That’s how they usually do this, right? She’s always one for the rules. He’s just afraid she’s going to figure out this is a mistake soon and then she’ll  _ really  _ never speak to him again. 

But with a flick of her eyes to the ceiling of the tent, she’s kissing him again, kicking off her boots and shoving down her pants. “Bellamy,” she practically whines into his mouth, the hoarseness of her voice going straight to his dick. “I thought you’d be a talker, but not this kind of talker.”

Just like that, a switch flips inside his head. Sex. She wants sex. Is he really going to trip over the semantics of it all, what it means, the consequences, his stupid insignificant feelings, and ruin it for the both of them? He’s better than that. He’s  _ been _ much better than that with all the other girls who’ve rotated his shitty makeshift bed. Bellamy stills, fingers digging into her hips, and smirks, knowingly, “You’ve thought about this?”

Clarke gives him a pointed look full of that familiar animosity she saves for him that makes him want to laugh, but before he can even make the first sound she’s pushing her lips back against his, fingers tugging on his hair painfully. This kiss is more demanding, awakening something in him, scratching and pulling at his inside, wanting to return as much as she was giving him. 

Seriously? What’s wrong with him? This is Clarke. They’ve done worse together. He can fuck her and still live to see another day tomorrow while being able to look her straight in the eye. 

And if it’s only going to be once  — he’s not ashamed to admit he can be selfish. Greedy. Taking more and more with a steady press of his lips against hers, savoring the sharp intakes of breath in between kisses, the squeak in the back of her throat as he bites down on her lip, his name spilling from her wet, pink lips as he starts to make his way down her throat. 

She starts to unhook her bra, and he takes advantage of the moment to pull of his own shirt, toeing off his boots just in time to see her amazing tits revealed to him as she flicks her bra off somewhere behind her. She pushes forward against him before he can take one of them in his hands like they itch to do, but he imagines they feel just as good crushed against his bare chest. Her hips grind into his, already more than half-hard against her as she sucks a bruise onto his pulsepoint. 

_ God _ , he wants her to leave a mark. Wants to walk out this tent later with her hand in his, the bruises on his neck on full display, showing everyone that he is hers. To go to a tent, his or hers, make it theirs until they find enough supplies for him to build them a cabin. He wants for her to start to show soon, her soft tummy swelling with life, showing everyone that she is his too. That they made something, together. 

Bellamy grabs her by the shoulders roughly, flipping them around. He doesn’t know exactly what leads him to do it, but suddenly he finds himself desperate. Desperate to make her feel something. Not a thirst for payback, or contempt-fueled lust, something real. He decides he can fuck her  _ and  _ make her feel something. He doesn’t understand how she can be so immune to him, when after just a few months at each other’s throats and sides he’s finding himself caring more deeply for her every day. Sometimes as a friend he’s come to trust, other times with the affection of a found family, and sometimes, in his absolute darkest moments, he’s yearned for her like a lover. 

And yet she hates him. He wasn’t too big of a fool to realize that she was just using him. And he was fine with that, of course he was. He agreed to this, knowing why she was doing this. Just getting this with her, her body against his, the little sounds of pleasure she makes, watching her fall apart inches from his face, it would all be worth it. 

But damn it if he couldn’t  _ try.  _ Try to make her feel something. Rational, levelheaded, closed off  _ Clarke _ .

His name is a gasp of surprise on her lips as he lifts her on top of the desk, already pulling her panties down her hips, not slowing down long enough for her to catch up. He puts a hand to her sternum, pressing her down on the table as he starts kissing his way down her stomach. His hands skim the backs of her legs before folding around her knees, spreading her wider for him. 

Clarke’s making noises of protest as he nips and sucks at the delicate flesh of the inside of her thighs, leaving bruising marks in his wake. He figures the last thing she wants is to lose control, be at his mercy. He’ll let her have it back in a minute, but for now he runs two fingers along her slit, testing her. She’s slick with need and he’s not disappointed. 

“You don’t have to — ” She starts hurriedly as she watches him kneel down in front of her, leaning back on her elbows. Her breasts move up and down heavily with each ragged breath she takes, her pupils blown with want. See, there’s  _ something. _ It’s starting to come. 

The desperate, ugly beast inside of his chest roars with satisfaction as she cuts herself off with a long, outdrawn moan as soon as his lips fold around her clit, no longer caring if anybody outside of their tent also got to enjoy the show. Maybe even wanting them to.

She twists her fingers into his damp hair, tugging harshly as she throws her head back, exposing the long, flushed column of her throat. He can’t stop watching her as he licks his way up and down her cunt, holding her open with thumbs as he prods her entrance, teases her clit, tastes her the way he’s imagined so many times now as darkness surrounded him in his tent. 

He replaces his tongue with one finger, then two when he slips in almost too easily, moving to his feet so he can pinch her breast with his free hand, close his lips around the other nipple, gently suck on it. Clarke immediately responds by arching her back into his mouth, trying to grind her hips against the heel of hand as he continues to pump his thick fingers in and out of her. 

Bellamy switches his attention to her other breast, letting his fingers play with the one that had just been in his mouth, teasing it, slick with his saliva. This is what he wanted. He wanted her to be as desperate, as furious with it as he was. 

He fucks her harder with his fingers, curving them up slightly, craning down to meet her lips even though all she can really do is pant into his mouth, her cries escalating with every move of his hand.  _ God, was her mother getting a show up there in the Ark _ , he thought, taking sick pleasure in it, in her need for  _ him _ . The janitor from factory station, whose mom was floated for having a second child and now they’re begging them to procreate, forcing them to even. The guy who shot Chancellor Jaha and made all the kids take off their wristbands, down on earth, ruining her daughter. 

Bellamy’s hand is big enough to cover her entire cunt, so his thumb can easily reach her clit, starting to move it around in tight circles. He can feel it. The exact moment she falls apart, working her through it with his hand and she clings unto him, hands sliding from his hair to his shoulders, nails digging in sharply. 

He’s still petting her cunt slowly, drawing out the aftershocks when her legs spasm and she pushes his hand away, too sensitive now, eyes still closed as her head falls back onto the desk, hands limp on top of her soft stomach. Her lids flutter open slowly after a moment, looking up at him with dazed, lidded eyes, lazy smile on her face. “You’re good at that.”

“There’s more where that came from,” he says teasingly, rubbing his hands up and down the outside of her thighs, squeezing the smooth flesh appreciatively. They’ve been eating better  — ever since they figured out how to hunt more effectively, Monty has finally managed to reap his first harvest, and the weather has been working in their favor for once  — and he loves how it shows on her. How the roundness has returned to her face, her curves have filled up again, the shine to her hair restored. 

Her blue eyes darken, and he can’t help but watch the movement of her tits as she pushes herself up, scooting her hips towards the edge of the desk as she hurriedly starts to unbutton his pants. There it is, she’s taking it back from him. 

“Sit down,” she directs him, nudging her head over to the chair by the desk just as she yanks them down his legs. There’s a bit of that authoritative, sanctimonious tone in her voice, the one she uses when she’s lecturing him about something, of the privileged princess from the Ark always getting her way. He finds it only turns him on more. Finds himself sinking down on the chair, watching her as she makes her way over to him. 

She stops in front of him, and he can’t help but reach out his hands, fold them around the back of her thighs to pull her closer. She’s silent and the anticipation makes him grow even more impatient. One of his hands moves, slides down the inside of her thigh to where she’s pulsing and damp with need but she swats him away, leering down at him with a defiant look on her face that almost makes him want to surrender. 

Almost. Bellamy frowns, desperate with it. “What do you want, Clarke?” He rasps roughly, fingers itching to touch more of her. Whatever the hell she wants, he just wants her to take it already. He can’t wait any longer. Her pupils are completely blown, but somehow her gaze stills turns darker in a way he would call malicious in any other setting. 

“I  _ want _ …” Clarke trails off as she straddles him, one leg at a time, reaching down in his boxers to free his hardness. She leans down a little, mouths at his ear as one of her hands trails down his chest, nearly making him choke on the little air getting into his lungs. She’s a fucking hurricane, overtaking all his senses. “You to fuck a baby into me, Bellamy.”

He groans as she finally grasps him in her hand, softly stroking it. A tiny part of him must’ve realized what she was about to do, but he’s still surprised when she angles herself up and slowly sinks down onto him. He’s pretty sure his fingers digging into her waist are going to leave marks, but by the way she’s shivering as she works her way down his cock, letting it fill her completely, she has other things to worry about. 

Her hands splay across his chest for balance as she bites down on her lip, moaning lightly as the head of his cock bumps into her cervix. It’s taking every fiber of his being not to pound up into her, instead remaining completely still under her as he lets her take her time adjusting to his size. Too soon and way too late all at once, she begins riding him, slow and torturous and teasing. 

Bellamy’s hands palm her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her nipples as he drops his head back slightly, barely able to contain the groans of pleasure spilling from his lips. She bites into his shoulder, trying to stave off her pleasure as her hips lift off him and slam back down in small figure-eights, absolutely driving him insane. 

Behind her moving mess of hair, the red lamp of the radio blinks in the low yellow light surrounding them, letting him know the connection is still live, that someone on the other side of the frequency is listening to them. Maybe her mother, too sick with disgust to turn it off, like watching a fist fight you know isn’t going to end well, but not being able to tear your eyes away anyway. A morbid attraction, compelled to the revulsion pumping through your veins. 

He smoothes one hand down her hair, holding her close with the other around her waist as she presses her soft lips against his neck, their bodies working up a sweat as he moves his hips up to meet hers. His grip tightens almost possessively as his mind flashes to whoever taught her to move like this. It’s hypocritical, since he’s far from a virgin, but he still can’t stop the nagging little voice in the back of his head telling him to make her his once and for all, make sure no one else ever feels her like this again. 

“Touch me,” she begs softly in his ear, small fingers wrapping around his, and all former thoughts flee his mind. Too much, too intense. Not for the radio, just for him. 

He snakes the hand between them, running his fingers over her clit, circling it, driving her just as mad as she’s driven him  — now and always  — until she finally spills around him, slackening in his arms as she rests her damp forehead against him. 

He rubs her back comfortingly as she comes back down, chest moving up and down his erratically, pressing a soothing kiss into the top of her hair. 

“What are you doing?” Clarke suddenly says, voice sharp as she lifts her head from his shoulder. Her hands slide over his ribs to his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades meanly. He loosens the tight grip around her hips, surely having left fingertip-shaped imprints from how hard he was trying to ground himself, only now releasing he’s stilled his movements. Bellamy searches her face, swallowing roughly. 

It’s not that he doesn’t  _ want _ to continue, it’s that he’s not sure they should. Revenge sex is one thing, creating a whole human being just because you feel like being petty is another. It’s something he would do, never afraid of the dramatics, not Clarke. She seems to be able to read him like the back of her hand, having none of it. “Pick me up and put me back on the table.”

“Clarke — ” He frowns, even though his resolve is already faltering, that familiar frustration he only ever feels around her starting to course through his veins. 

She cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed, dismissive. “I said, pick me up and put me back on the table.”

He grits his teeth together, but obeys, easily lifting her along with him as he stands, one arm banded around her waist, crushing her against him as he makes his way over to the desk. He lays her back on top of it, body still pressed against his. He’s afraid if he lets go, he’ll break something between them. 

She gently cups his face, breaking away just enough so she can move, leaning in to kiss him softly with a tenderness he doesn’t understand. “It’s alright,” she mumbles against his mouth, eyes still closed as she clenches around him. 

He has to suppress a low growl at the feelings as Bellamy’s heart rises up and settles somewhere in his throat. “You know what this means, right?”

“I don’t care,” Clarke tells him decisively, mind already made up. If anyone knows she won’t change it now, it’s him. Her mouth presses each precise word in the skin of her jaw as she nips and mouths at it. He’s sure she can feel the fast flutter of his pulse against her chin, like hummingbird wings. “I want you to come inside of me.”

“Your implant,” he pants, obviously straining to hold back as his jaw clenches, dark eyes boring into her stubborn gaze. “It doesn’t work anymore.”

“That’s the point,” Clarke flashes, bratty, craning her head to take his mouth again as her heels dig into his ass, urging him to move. The realisation crashes into him like a tonne of bricks. She didn’t just pick him for some petty getting-back-at-my-mom sex. She picked him to be the father. 

He pushes out a low groan of relief as he finally starts moving again, pounding into her. It isn’t long before he feels that once-familiar pressure building in the back of his spine and he’s spilling inside of her, her cunt clenching around him to milk every last drop. 

Breathing heavy, he pulls back from her after a moment, leaning his weight on balled fists as he stares down at her. Clarke presses a soft kiss against his chest, right over his sternum before gently pushing him back. He obeys, knowing he’s probably suffocating her, moving to stand to his full height. She sits up and they both hiss as his softening dick parts from her, and he’s almost mesmerized by the way his cum drips out of her. 

Suddenly he’s overcome with the urge to kiss her, so he does, wondering about the next time she would allow him the liberty to do so. Maybe never. Her body surges against his in response, not letting his tongue dominate hers as her fingers wind into the curls on the back of his head. 

She’s the one who pulls back eventually, sliding off the table to start collecting her clothes. His ribcage suddenly seems too constricting for his heavy heart as he reaches over to flip the off switch on the rado, a dark bitter feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He tried, and maybe he succeeded for a bit, to make her feel even a semblance of what he feels for her, but it doesn’t change anything.

He watches her hook her bra back into place behind her back before picking up her shirt like she just can’t wait to get out of here, and it kickstarts him into finding his own boxers. 

Halfway through buttoning his pants, Bellamy can’t help himself, stopping in front of the chair she’s sitting in, one foot propped up on the seat so she can fasten the laces of her boot more tightly. He clears his throat, a little unsure, and she pauses her movements, meeting his gaze. There’s something a lot like amusement in them, and he’s about to make a major fool out of himself, he realizes.

He swallows tight, then braces himself, his voice softer than he intended it to be, “No need for me to get you Lincoln’s tea in the morning then?”

There’s a twitch of her mouth, which might be her attempt at a smile, and then she’s suddenly rising to her feet, kissing him softly as her thumb moves over his cheek. He must look confused when she pulls back, because this time she does smile, soft and pretty and all for him. “You’re going to be such a good father, you know that right?”

He raises his eyebrows, even if he can’t contain the returning grin forming on his lips as his stomach flips with pride. Clarke thinks he would be a good father. To a child.  _ Their _ child. “I turned the radio off.”

“I know,” she says simply, thumbing away her saliva from his bottom lip, avoiding her his eyes as she admits, “That was just for us.”

He’s happy, and it feels foreign. So foreign, he questions it. Maybe he misinterpreted, heard what he wanted to hear, or maybe he’s asleep. Dream or nightmare, he hasn’t decided yet. “You were in such a rush to get away, I figured — ”

“We still have a camp to run, Bellamy,” Clarke declares seriously, picking her jacket off a trunk locker a few feet away.  _ Of course. _ Back to business. That’s his Clarke. “My shift in the medbay is starting in five, and you’re about — ” She looks at the spider-web cracked glass of her father’s watch, arching a thin eyebrow before flicking her eyes back up at him. “ — half an hour late for your guard shift.”

“Ah, tardiness for sure will get a cadet in trouble,” Bellamy says gravely, fighting a grin as he pulls her back toward him by her hips. Her arms lock behind his head instinctively, even if she looks a little aggravated at herself for it, covered forearms rough against his bare shoulders. He smirks, maybe she isn’t so immune as he thought. “Luckily I’m the one in charge.” She cynically hums in agreement, and he can’t help but brush his lips over hers again. Now that he’s started, he can’t stop. “You know, if you’re pregnant, you should really cut down on the night shifts.”

He can’t stop  _ that _ either. Can’t shut down that part of him no matter how much he’d like to. Would save him a lot of stress. Clarke rolls her eyes, groaning a little as she throws her head back. “Can we skip the whole overprotective alpha male thing?”

“Fine,” he agrees easily, just to see her eyes widen with shock. It’s not like him to give in without any difficulty but he likes it when her lips part with surprise, how her eyes narrow all distrustfully. “I trust you and I trust you know what is best for yourself and the baby, but I’m still going to worry. It’s what you and I do.”

Her eyes soften slightly as one hand curls into his hair softly, scraping the back of his head soothingly. “ _ If  _ there is a baby.” She’s trying to protect his feelings, which he understands, but still, his hopes are already up. His hopes been up since she first ambushed him in this tent. Clarke gets her grave, doctor-y look on her face then and he can’t help but smile, fond. “I’ve had this implant ever since I got my first period when I twelve. My body might need some time to readjust.”

“We could always try again, right?” He suggests teasingly swaying them a little. Her face remains stoic as she stares up at him, completely unaffected, and he can’t help but let a little self-doubt shimmer through in his voice as he puts them to a stop. “You liked it just now, didn’t you?”

Objectively, he knows he’s good at sex, she came like twice which is enough proof of that, but you can’t fake feelings. Maybe the chemistry just wasn’t there for her, or they were lackluster orgasms at best. What if she’s had better? What if… _ Finn _ ? God, what if Collins is better in bed than him? He’ll just have to make Murphy fetch some rope so he can hang himself again. 

A smirk threatens to spill from her lips, but she keeps it down, instead letting out a small huff of amused laughter at the thousand and one self-deprecating thoughts flashing across his face. “What ever happened to that ego of yours?”

She’s joking, which is good, he figures. If anything, she’s always been honest with him and he gave her opening to come out and say it, and she didn’t. He relaxes, teasing her right back, deadpanning, “You’ve given me a complex.”

“Mhmm,” she sarcastically hums in agreement. Fitting the hand not in his hair over his chest, rubbing comfortingly, even if it has a hint of mockery in it. “Don’t worry. I loved that, just now.” She gives him a pointed look, then rises up her tiptoes to peck his lips quickly, nudging her head towards the exit of the tent, indicating they should really leave. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy the next time just as much.”

He releases her, picking up his own jacket hanging from a few paper rolls of expansion plans and blueprints. Bellamy raises his eyebrows, can’t help but sound a little smug. “Next time, huh?”

She links their hands together, pressing her lips to the back of his before giving him a squeeze, pulling him along to the exit. “You heard my mom. Can’t stop until every pair has at least two offspring. You know,” he can’t see her face with her leading the way, but he just knows there’s an eye-roll involved from the dry tone of her voice, “ _ for our people _ , to ensure a next generation and all.”

Bellamy smirks, holding the flap of the tent up for her so she can go outside. “I think your mom is the one who heard us, princess.”

Clarke flushes red, but to her credit, she doesn’t look ashamed for even one second, keeps her shoulders straight and her chin up as she turns on her heels to face him as soon as he ducks out of the tent himself. “The  _ point _ ,” she presses aggressively, ignoring his former reply as she pauses for a moment to make sure she has his full attention, “Is you’ll be stuck with me for a while.”

“Well, good,” he decides, tauntingly, “because I want at least four.”

“Four?” She snorts, “Not with me, you won’t.”

He walks her to the medbay, bickering and arguing like always, but this time with his arm slung across her shoulders and a little less heat in their voices. This time, she leans up to kiss him goodbye and the back of his fingers brush against her lower belly delicately. She gives him a knowing look, soft and understanding around the edges, then kisses him again, gentle and full of promise. 

The Ark may be run by an overabundance of ignorant pieces of shit, but on his way to relieve Miller from his post with his lips still warm and wet from kissing, Bellamy decides not all their ideas are so bad. 


End file.
